Chapter Two #3
There was a tiny note of petulance in her voice. That alarmed him more than the nameless emotion he felt holding her. That single little note of complaint was unlike her.
“Yes. I’m always in charge. You need to get used to it. As soon as we’re both in better shape, we’ll be having a conversation,” he warned. He wrapped a thick strand of her blazing-red hair around his finger. “I’m extremely upset with you.”
“How thrilling.”
That was a classic Lyric response, so much more like her. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Why should I be?”
“Everyone else has the common sense to be. You’re the only person who argues with me.”
“I don’t argue.”
The way her lips moved against his chest began to drive him crazy. She did oppose his opinion in their discussions, but she didn’t view that as arguing. Neither did he. “You just ignore me when I tell you to do something and get your ass shot.”
“That was a conscious decision.”
His entire body went still. His mind froze. The volcano that slept in him woke with a terrible roar. It was all he could do not to smack her bare ass as hard as he was capable, which was far too hard.
“Conscious decision?” he repeated, willing her to take it back.
“Yes. I did so with intention and determination. That’s a conscious decision.”
His fingers tightened to a fist in her hair, uncaring of her head wound.
He dragged her head up until her emerald eyes met his.
He ignored the pain he saw there. She deserved to be in pain.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lyric? I’m going to make a conscious decision to beat you within an inch of your life.
” He meant every word, and he let her see she wasn’t nearly as safe with him as she thought she was.
He expected her to show him fear. Instead, she gave him a faint smile. “If you want to teach me some kind of lesson, you’ll have to do it when I’m capable of hearing you.”
That just pissed him off more. He couldn’t win with her. His fist tightened even more in her hair. “You don’t put yourself in danger like that. It wasn’t necessary.”
Her green eyes searched his, and for the first time she looked uncertain. Maybe hurt. She was beginning to realize he was truly pissed at her. She’d been too cold and in pain to understand he wasn’t kidding around with her. He could see the knowledge blossoming in her eyes.
“I thought it was.” She whispered her answer. He felt each word like fingers stroking over his cock. She was beat the hell up, had three different wounds, was cold as fuck, and all he was beginning to think about was fucking her.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t.”
“Okay, then.” Her long lashes came down, covering the green of her eyes.
He lowered her head to his chest, but this time she didn’t snuggle close. She was still in the same position, but there was tension in her body that hadn’t been there before. Earlier, she’d been wholly relaxed; now she was not.
Good. Maybe she’d listen to him when it came to her safety. He stroked a caress down the back of her head and felt her wince. She didn’t tell him to stop. She didn’t whimper or whine. How many others, men or women, would have gone through what she had and not been vocal about their discomfort?
He refused to feel guilty. He needed to get his point across to her.
She was five foot nothing and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.
She had no business attacking men with a blow-dryer, let alone facing off with a man with a gun just so she could toss Keys a pair of scissors.
The memory of those few seconds would haunt him for the rest of his life. He’d thought he’d lost her.
His fist tightened even more at the thought.
A protest. A gut reaction. He was used to being in control of everything around him.
He guarded Steele, the VP of Torpedo Ink, his club.
He faced down members of other clubs easily.
He had a reputation. His club counted on him when the going got rough, and he always came through. Because he had complete control.
It had taken a concentrated effort to get past Lyric’s reserve. She didn’t trust. Others didn’t see it. They thought they had a relationship with her, but like him, she gave a false impression of who she was. No one ever got beyond that first layer. Only Keys had.
He’d worked at it without knowing why, and he’d gotten the real woman.
Sunshine and laughter. Shocking intelligence.
She was amazing and could talk to him on any subject with ease.
Every day he was away from her, even during his regular club duties, he found himself missing her.
Wondering what she was up to. Worried some asshole would convince her to go out with him. She certainly got enough invitations.
He’d gotten her trust, and now he felt her withdrawal.
Hell no. She wasn’t using his justified anger to drive a wedge between them.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t confront her.
She was exhausted and hurting. He didn’t have any painkillers to give her.
The small first aid kit was mostly empty. It didn’t even have an aspirin in it.
He wrapped his arms around her, surrounding her with strength and safety. Very gently he massaged her back in a small circular motion. Each time he encountered one of those strange scars, he traced it with the pad of his finger. She had more on her front than her back, but she had them.
He found her arms and began to massage them as well.
He couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to make that throw when her arms had been numb.
He’d had enough prisoners and been one enough times to know what happened when arms were put the way hers had been.
She hadn’t had enough time to fully get back feeling.
He wasn’t certain how she’d done it, but she had. Determination, courage and sheer grit.
He felt the moment she drifted off. He didn’t want to take chances with her head wound, but he was every bit as tired as she was.
It wouldn’t hurt to lay it down for a moment.
He’d positioned her shoes and his boots on the floor below the heater.
They would have to dry along with his jeans and hers.
He sent up a small prayer that the heater would last long enough to get it done.
He made a list in his head of everything he would need to do before they abandoned the truck.
He wished they could stay, use it as shelter, at least until Lyric was stronger, but he knew that would be suicide.
They weren’t equipped to go head-to-head with the bosses of the clowns that attacked them.
He’d spent three months investigating the Headed for Hell club.
Rumor had it that they used the mountains and caves to hide guns, drugs and trafficked victims. He was good at sniffing out corruption.
He’d ridden into town with his partner, Destroyer, another Torpedo Ink member.
Neither wore their colors and both felt naked without them.
It had been a relief when Czar, their president, called them back, and they could slide into their cuts, wearing them like a second skin.
But he hadn’t stayed away. And he hadn’t told anyone where he went when he disappeared.
He’d mentioned to his VP, Steele, that he was going to get a haircut once.
He didn’t know why he kept returning, and he didn’t want to have to try to explain.
Now Lyric was going to pay for that fuckup.
His club would have been there in a heartbeat if he hadn’t already established a pattern of being gone a week or more at a time.
He’d missed something in the investigation.
The Headed for Hell club must have identified him.
It was possible. Two of the members of Headed for Hell had come one night to their roadhouse when Keys was playing with the band.
They hadn’t stayed long, and neither club member acted as if they remembered him.
Torpedo Ink did their best to keep a low profile, but they did a lot of work for other clubs.
They were considered a support club to the Diamondbacks, one of the largest clubs worldwide.
When they’d first become Torpedo Ink in Diamondback territory, they’d had eighteen original members.
They’d taken on two of Czar’s brothers and Destroyer. Then Rock earned his full patch.
A club in Trinity requested to be brought into Torpedo Ink.
Like the entire Torpedo Ink club, those men had also gone to the schools in Russia and when they were cut loose, they had no way to integrate back into society.
They had twenty-five members, all trained assassins.
They were voted in, and just like that Torpedo Ink had a second chapter and had doubled in size.
A third club, Rampage out of the Sierra, had come to them asking for the same.
Those men and women had been taken from their families and made into assets for Sorbacov in Russia.
They were being thoroughly investigated.
Czar didn’t fuck around. If anyone betrayed their club, they weren’t just thrown out, they were killed.
Once in, there was no walking away. And that included their old ladies if those women knew anything about the club.
That would put Lyric in further danger if he took her home… He shut that thought down.